Accent Hussy (It Had 2 B U) (3 page)

“Mom!” I screech when she opens the door. I fling myself into her arms and practically knock her off balance.

“Assaulting me with hugs already? This weekend is going to be great!” My mom kisses the top of my head and releases me from my hug. “How are things? Are you and that boy from England still dating?”

I still can’t believe that chain-smoking asshole tried to have his way with me. Jerk! I wish I knew how to defend myself so next time I see him I can kick his ass.

“Not exactly, turns out he wasn’t really my type.”

“Oh Everly, when will you find someone to settle down with? I thought this one had staying power. The way you talked about him made it seem like he was perfect for you.”

“Mom, I’m young. I’m not ready to settle down with anyone. Right now, I’m just having fun dating. One of these days I’ll find the perfect guy. Until then, I’m playing the field.”

“You’re so much like your brother, it scares me. Just be careful, Everly. I don’t want any grandchildren from you. Your brother, maybe. But the idea of my baby having babies is quite terrifying.”

“Eww, I don’t even want to think about Max making babies. That’s like thinking about you and dad . . . no, I’m not going there, you and dad don’t do stuff like that.”

“Really? And how exactly do you think you came into this world, Everly?”

“Artificial insemination? Alien abduction? Adopted?”

“No, honey, do you need the birds and the bees talk again? Your dad’s penis entered my vagina . . .”

“Oh, hell no! We are so not talking about this. La la la, I can’t hear you.” I plug my ears and say the words at the top of my lungs.

“You and your brother are way too easy to make uncomfortable. All I have to do is talk about sex and you both turn into queasy virgins.”

“Mooom, stop!” This is the most warped conversation I’ve ever had with my mother. She’s not usually this vocal about sex. Why she’s picking now, of all times, to open up, is beyond me.

“Sorry Darling, the truth is your father and I do have sex. We made two beautiful kids because of it. Frankly, the fact that you and Max think I should pretend to be not sexually active is crazy. Your father and I have a very active sex life, like at least two or three times a week.”

“Mom there’s this thing called over-sharing . . . I’m pretty sure you crossed that line, at least, thirty words ago. I’m going to go find Max. At least, I know he won’t gross me out with sex talk.”

“Do me a favor. Get your brother to smile, okay? I hate seeing him like this.”

“I’ll try my best,” I tell her. She’s starting to scare me with all this talk about my brother being the Mopey Monster upstairs. Time to pull on my Everly charm. No brother of mine is going to sit up in a room sulking all weekend. My mission is simple—get Max out of that room and his mind off Breezy. If I have to force him into some girl’s vagina, then fine. Sometimes you have to sacrifice your stomach for the ones you love.

My brother’s door is open when I get up the stairs. For a moment, I just linger outside the door watching him. He’s hunched over, head in his hands, and staring down at his phone that has a picture of Breezy on it. It’s almost depressing to see him like that. My brother has always been the one person I’ve looked up to. Max is one of those guys that will do just about anything for the people he loves. According to every girl in the female population, he’s also insanely good looking. I personally think he looks goofy. He’s close to six feet tall and covered in muscles. His olive skin shows off our Italian heritage perfectly, and his coal-black hair is spiked up on his head. Only, I think it’s styled wildly because he keeps running his fingers through it, not because it’s meant to look the way it does right now. When I see an actual teardrop fall from his eye and land on his pant leg, I can’t take it anymore.

“You look like shit,” I tell him.

He looks up at me with tears in his eyes. He quickly wipes at his face, pretending to be happy, but I can see behind his fake smile—he’s hurting—he’s hurting badly.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in. The college girl. That whisper of a sister I know I have but never see.” He gets up from the bed and gives me a hug that practically squishes me. “It’s great to see you, Ev. What are you doing here?”

My brother always makes me laugh. Even depressed, he knows how to bring a smile to my face. “Mom said you broke off your friendship with Breeanne. She said you look like shit and could use a friendly face. She was right.” I hit him with my English accent, hoping that it will make him smile and turn his frown upside down.

“You’re talking funny,” he tells me.

No shit Sherlock . . . I’m fucking British right now.

“I’m dating a guy who’s from England. I’ve sort of picked up his accent,” I lie.

“Weren’t you dating a Spanish guy last time I talked to you?” Great, does he have to bring up Jesus? I hate to admit it, but I was a little attached to the sexy Spaniard. Every time someone brings him up, I get depressed.

“Yeah, we broke up,” I say cheerily.

“How come?”

“He didn’t like the tacos I made him.” It’s true, he hated my tacos and said they tasted like cat puke.

“Seriously? What guy breaks up with a girl over tacos?”

Jesus does.

“I might have sorta lied about being Spanish,” I shrug.

“When my accent started to falter and my broken Spanglish didn’t hold up anymore, he started questioning my authenticity, but it was when my Mexican cuisine didn’t taste Mexican that he dumped me for lying to him. At least, our tanned Italian skin and dark hair got me by for three months.”

“What is it with you dating guys with accents?”

“I don’t know . . . They’re hot. Gets my panties all wet and stuff.” The look on Max’s face is absolutely priceless. Now I know exactly how to get my brother to smile once again.
Time to bring out the little sister sex arsenal; older brother is going down.

“Do me a favor, never talk to me about your wet panties again!”

“Aww Max, does it embarrass you?” I tease.

“It grosses me out.”

“Yes!” I pump my fist in the air and shout from the top of my lungs. Max rolls his eyes at me. As much as I love my brother, making him squirm tops my list when it comes to things that make me happy.

“So what’s with the new accent?”

“I told you the boyfriend is from England. I sorta adopted it and his culture.” Okay, so I’m lying to my brother, but if Max found out that Leo tried to force himself on me, he’d probably kill him.

“So now you’re English?”

“Have you tried tea and crumpets? It’s amazing!” I have no idea what tea and crumpets actually taste like, but it sounds good.

“What’s the new boyfriend’s name? Does he realize you’re not English?”

“Leo, and no. He thinks I spent a couple years in Cambridge. I have the accent down pretty good, don’t you think?”

“Holy fuck, you really are an accent hussy!” I love it when he calls me that. He started calling me that a couple years ago after I had dated my third . . . maybe fourth guy with an accent.

“Damn straight I am! Give me an accented man over your average run-of-the-mill Joe any day of the week. I plan on marrying a man with an accent, that way when I have sex, I’m wet all of the time.” I am totally making him squirm now. It’s perfect. I’m also giggling like an idiot.

“Stop it! No more sex talk. You’re killing me, Ev.”

Yes! This is actually working
.

“Fine, no more sex talk. What’s your plans this weekend?”

“Nothing yet, you’re looking at it.”

“We should go out,” I exclaim happily. “Let’s do something fun to keep your mind off Breezy.”

“Okay, like what?” he asks. My mouth opens to answer, but his phone interrupts me. He looks down and spends the next five minutes texting, ignoring me in the process. I’m hoping it’s Breezy, otherwise, his blatant rudeness calls for more teasing.

“Looks like we’re going to a karaoke bar tomorrow night.”

“Yes! I love singing,” I shout. I really don’t love singing. I actually like going just to watch the people who can’t sing. It’s quite possibly the most humorous thing in the world.

“I know; be ready by seven. How long are you staying this time?” he asks.

“Just the weekend; however, you’re stuck with me after next month.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m moving back home after graduation. I’m going to have to find a job, but I miss you and the ‘rents and want to come back.”

“What about Luther?”

“Leo. He’s going to find out I’m not English sometime. No use pretending that the relationship will last after he finds out I’m lying.” Little does he know, I already kicked that fake ass Limey to the curb. I still can’t believe he was lying to me this whole time.

“Exactly how many boys with accents have broken up with you because of your lying, anyway?”

“Seven.”
At least, I think it’s seven—could be eight . . . maybe nine
.

“You’ve dated seven guys in the last five years?”

That’s a small number compared to some people I know.
Ahem Max
. My brother is a man whore. Straight up auctions his dick off to any girl who gets on her knees and offers to suck him off. Okay, maybe he’s not that bad, but he seriously gets a lot of pussy.

“No, I’ve fucked seven guys with accents in the last five years. I’ve only had two relationships, meaning that they lasted longer than a month—not including Leo.”

“I’m buying you a chastity belt. Then I’m throwing away the key.”

“Face it, Max, your little sister isn’t so little anymore. My vagina has almost been to all seven continents, and dipped in, at least, nine different cultures.”

“Nine? Why is the number increasing?”

“I may have forgotten a couple. The number is closer to ten.”
Yes, definitely closer to ten.
I forgot about that one-night-stand with that Arabian dude that claimed he was a prince. Yeah, he was so
not
a prince.

“Holy shit, not only is my sister an accent hussy, she’s also a floozy.” Max looks completely derailed by my little confession. This is seriously the best.

“I’m so not a floozy. It’s more like I’m expanding my horizons. I’m cultured now.”
Cultured
, I like the sound of that. I almost sound like I know what I’m talking about.

“Cultured in dick,” he gripes.

If he thought all the talk before was too much, wait until I hit him with this . . . “That too, did you know Jamaicans are really well-endowed?” I smile evilly.

“Fuck, Everly. Just stop.” He’s groaning and I’m loving it.

I’m laughing so hard my side hurts. “You’re way too easy, Max. Come on, let’s go find something to eat. I’m thinking Mexican.”

“Not English?”

“Max, they don’t make English food, you idiot. Now come on, this will be your treat.”

I practically have to drag him down the stairs, but somehow get him to leave the house. Mom and Dad stay home because they know Max needs some serious sister time and that’s exactly what I’m going to give him.

“Sooo, wanna talk about it?” I ask Max over my enchiladas.

“No,” he grumps, taking a bite of his burrito.

“Come on, Max. What good is having a little sister if you don’t open up to her about your problems? Think of me as your own personal therapist. I promise to be as objective as I can. Okay, that’s a lie, you’re going to get my opinions whether you want them or not.”

“Yeah, because that makes me want to talk.” He takes another bite of his food and looks down at his plate.

“Don’t even think about it!” I scold him.

“Think about what?” He asks, looking confused.

“Touching that hot plate to numb whatever pain you have going on inside of you. I’m not going to let you do it, Max.” Why do Mexican restaurants bring food on such hot plates anyway? I mean, hello, lawsuit!

He shakes his head. “At least, I wouldn’t feel sad anymore. Pain is better than this emotional crap I’m feeling.”